Skeleton Key
by Katharra
Summary: There is an uneasy truce between the shinigami and those other ones that collect souls. This is what happens when one side decides to break that truce and these are the consequences for our own existence. Ch. 3 - Division 10 to the rescue.
1. Dirty and Beautiful

It begins long before a funeral; at least, in most cases it does. And in most cases they go easily, without a fight, often wide-eyed and fearful but obedient in their obliviousness. Even though for some this has happened many times before, the soul, still infused with the consciousness of its most recent host, forgets how it was before. Sometimes they fight. But more often than not, they are in such a stupor from the transference of flesh and blood to unrestrained freedom that they do not even recognize what is happening to them until after it has already happened. And even then, after they arrive in the next pane of existence, they tend to wander aimlessly, desperately holding on to what memories they had and attempting to make sense of it all. By then it's too late to go back anyway.

Sometimes they drift away before the collection can even take place. That's when one of the more senior ones are called in; to track them down and pop them on the head to send them into the sweet hereafter. Others, more cognizant ones, actually sneak away. Those ones can be a bit more difficult; one, because they are painfully, shockingly _aware_ of what has happened to them and what will happen to them; and two, because they become further aware that the rules of the living no longer apply when you are not tied to a corporeal host. Gravity and physics become meaningless. Although one would think it would be a nuisance to go after these ones, most reapers view it as a golden opportunity. A chance to travel to the world of the living, hone their tracking skills, but most of all, to hunt some challenging prey. Most reapers have forgotten that they too were once hunted down and the ones they now track will most likely be their comrades tomorrow, or worse, their own usurpers.

But there is something divine, heartbreakingly beautiful in the final outcome of a hunt; the soul funeral, as it were. When the soul is released from this pane of existence into the next, it dematerializes into its purest form; indescribable glowing orbs of light. The soul reapers, for all the fear that surrounds them and that they themselves encourage, are nonetheless awestruck by their own work. To many, this is the worth of a soul reaper; it is this small, short moment of peace that every soul and every soul reaper longs to return to.

Their job completed, the shinigami are obliged to return home. With a turn of the sword, an unseen door appears, infused with light, opening into that dimension that humans can imagine, but few have ever seen and lived to tell. Black butterflies flutter haphazardly around them in greeting, ushering them into that familiar place. The sky is never cloudy in that realm; indeed, there's really not even an atmosphere. There are things that feel like ground, that feel like sky and water; but whether or not they actually exist in a tangible sense is anyone's guess. Whatever the soul society is actually composed of does not matter; even if a soul can't remember ever being there before, it still feels like returning to a childhood home that was almost, but not quite, forgotten. To the soul reaper, it feels more than that; it feels like a piece of their own being and it is worth dying for.

The gates to _that_ _other _door only open once in awhile, and a shinigami does not have the power to open it. You have to have lived a fairly degenerate life for that to happen. The shinigami do not interfere; there has been an uneasy truce in place since before anyone can remember it ever being agreed to. The shinigami sometimes observe, by accident of course. Casually, they peek from a distance, morbidly interested but embarrassed to admit it. The demons come in different forms; sometimes shapeless, slithering streams of silky black smoke; and sometimes they are strikingly human-like in features, just like the shinigami themselves. But the aura is unmistakable. And the eyes are always jet-black; hollow pools of onyx.

The door to the soul society is dark, but beyond the darkness there is light, overwhelmingly bright. This other door is obscenely large, caressed on either side by skeletal hands that swing the door open and close. The light beyond that door is blackness tinged around the edges with crimson. It could send shivers down a junior shinigami's spine, and at the very least, make a senior shinigami cringe with distaste. There is a smell of putrid waste that emanates from the blackness accompanied by the faint sound of terrified wailings and the agonized groaning of millions.

When those ones come for it, the soul reacts just as any living being would; awash in unabated terror. It's no wonder those souls often run, but what's more puzzling is how often the demons that come for them allow them to run. Shinigami pride themselves on hunting their prey down quickly, performing their duty efficiently and gracefully. Demons seem to enjoy lingering; allowing their prey to wander for days sometimes while the demons leisurely track them down. They allow the souls a small glimmer of hope when there was none to be had all along. The shinigami suppose it is another form of torture, just one of many that the doomed soul will experience for the term of their judgment, however long that may be.

The demons do not believe in accuracy or efficiency; it is not that they are incapable of it, it's just that it's much more satisfying to let a soul writhe in slow suffering. The demons crave the macabre and the more a soul struggles the more they take pleasure in shredding bits of that soul's appendages away. It's what a shinigami would distastefully look down on as messy. To a demon, it's pure art.

The shinigami and the demons do not interact; it's another one of those unspoken rules. It is generally accepted that both have a defined, integral role to play in the management of this world, as odd as that concept may seem. It's not unheard of, however, for a shinigami to feel those black, hollow eyes on his body or to feel the soft caress of shapeless smoke kiss the back of his neck. But as tempting as it is to take a demon up on its offer of challenge, a shinigami, with trained patience, must put aside such desires for the sake of a world free from chaos. It's not known if the two sides ever did fight; if they did, either no one is alive to speak of it or it ended predictably with neither side claiming victory. The two are too evenly matched.

At least, that's what we thought.


	2. In the Air

Hisagi Shuuhei was not young for a lieutenant by any stretch; indeed, most of the 2nd ranks were about the same age as him, and then of course there was that certain pink-haired hell-spawn herself, Yachiro Kusajishi, the second in command for the 11th Division. No one in their right mind ever challenged the validity of having a mere child for a lieutenant; if they did, then they would surely have to question Captain Toshiro's ability as well and that was never in any doubt. Nonetheless, Hisagi Shuuhei sometimes _felt_ like he was young for his rank, particularly given his naivete about his former captain. How blind he had been, how child-like in his innocence, to believe that the man he admired most in the world could possibly be without fault. He knew better now. Which was why he was so careful to watch himself as current acting captain of the 9th Division.

Unfortunately, the glory that came with being both a lieutenant and an acting captain meant that you had double the amount of paperwork to accomplish. Not being one to shirk his duties, which he was always very serious about, Hisagi forced himself down to his desk and set his mind to getting through the ominous looking stack of paper piling up on both sides of the desktop. One hand supporting his chin, the other scribbling madly away, Hisagi managed to deplete the pile somewhat, albeit over a few hours and without taking any breaks. He massaged his sore writing hand and leaned back in the chair, taking stock of the remaining piles of paper with a sigh. _There's no end to it,_ Hisagi thought to himself. Running a hand through his thick, unruly black hair, Hisagi once again leaned over the desk and grabbed the next stack of papers.

The door to his office was flung open with such force it slammed into the wall with a jarring thud, reverberating across the room. With his hand still hovering in the air, the stacks of paper slid off his desk slowly, almost elegantly, fanning across the floor on either side of the desk. Hisagi blinked.

"Lieutenant Captain!" Bellowed one of the younger members in his squad. Barely out of adolescence, the boy's uniform drooped from his wiry frame and his sword hung haphazardly off his hip. His hair was the same colour as Hisagi's and almost resembled the lieutenant's in its animal-like appearance.

Shuuhei's eyes narrowed sternly at the boy. "What?"

The boy dipped at the waist with his eyes closed. "A hell butterfly summons you!"

Inwardly, Hisagi groaned. Outwardly, he motioned the boy away with a flick of his hand. The boy scuttled backwards, still bent at the waist.

A black butterfly fluttered into the room, slowly making its way towards him. Extending his hand to it, the butterfly dipped onto a finger, then turned about in a few circles before finally settling itself. It hypnotically waved its gossamer wings at him. Hisagi listened to the silent message unemotionally. Though after the butterfly left, he sighed.

Why did _he_ have to go to the material world?

* * *

This one was traveling quickly, in terror no doubt. _But how can she sense me?_ Hisagi Shuuhei wondered. He was tracking the fleeing form from atop the shop roofs, leaping easily over the looming gaps between highrises. The young spirit of the girl below ran pell-mell on a busy Sunday street, through an oblivious crowd of the living who felt nothing but soft tendrils of wind tickle the hairs on their arms as the spirit flew past them. The ghostly figure of the girl kept looking behind her, eyes wide and mouth hanging agape. _She's not looking up, _Hisagi realized. There was something else tracking her.

Hisagi was annoyed. His directives were clear - who had the gall to interfere? He stalled on one rooftop, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword strapped to the side of his hip. Keen eyes squinted in survey of the street behind the girl's spirit. To the naked eye, the street was typical, almost mundane in its collection of small shops and ridiculously giddy families enjoying the unseasonably warm temperatures.

_There_. Hisagi's eyes narrowed. Something shimmered amongst the crowd. The movement was odd; almost akin to the shinigami's use of shun-po, a flash step that made the body seem to disappear altogether. But this was different; the thing, whatever it was, wasn't using flash-step to propel its movement forward. It was as if the creature was using it to blend in with the crowd; camouflaging its movements by shimmering in and out of sight, effectively rendering itself invisible.

Curiosity piqued, and now entirely forgetting his original mission, Hisagi concentrated on tracking this new being. He knelt upon one knee, leaning over the edge of the concrete barrier on a squat, three-story building. The thing was zig-zagging through the horde of shoppers instead of simply overtaking them on the rooftops like Hisagi would. It was very inefficient, Hisagi decided critically.

Then the movement stopped. Hisagi cocked his head. Out of nowhere, the thing materialized in the middle of the sidewalk, in the midst of the oblivious crowd. It looked human. It had skin the colour of fine porcelain; so fine it was almost transparent. The hair was black and stringy, hanging limply down its back. It was clothed entirely in black leather, looking like a biker minus the bike. The colour of the black contrasted starkly against its pale white skin. And it appeared male. It stood stock-still, no longer watching the girl's disappearing spirit but not paying attention to the other people either. Its head tilted to the side, as if listening to some unknown source. Then it looked towards the sky, or rather as Hisagi realized with belated surprise, it was looking towards the rooftops. It was looking at _him._

With a start, Hisagi glimpsed the deep pools of black that passed for the being's eyes. _Demon_, Hisagi whispered to himself.

The demon smiled at him. Hisagi cringed with distaste. _What is a demon doing here? _Someone, and he prayed it wasn't him, had gotten their wires crossed.

With a shimmer, the demon disappeared from view. Hisagi straightened; bewildered, annoyed and concerned all at once. He radioed the soul society, twisting the small black dial on the collar circling his neck. He reported his findings methodically, then strained to hear his directions in return.

"Follow the demon, but do not engage," came the monotone order. "We're sending back-up."

Hisagi switched off the radio. The spirit of the girl had become a low priority, but Hisagi reasoned if the girl was the demon's target, then following her once more should lead him to his newfound prey.

* * *

The day melded into night and the crowds disappeared from the streets, settling back into the safety and comfort of home. Hisagi tracked the girl from the busy centre of town into the suburbs. She had traveled quite a bit that day, stopping only briefly to scan the darkened streets behind her with tearful eyes. Hisagi felt a pang of pity for her. With any luck, he would be able to perform a soul funeral before the demon caught up, but he would only chance it when he had the demon in sight. He could not risk the demon escaping before he gleaned more information from him. He still did not know why the demon was chasing her in the first place. She looked innocent enough.

The girl was darting out from one house, streaking across an empty, dimly lit street to reach the gated houses on the other side. She was almost across, so achingly close to reaching the other side, when the demon materialized in front of her, blocking her path. The girl froze. Tears streamed down her face. Her palms were by her sides, fingers long and wide. The demon took a step towards her, with a wide Cheshire-cat smile. The girl stumbled backwards, faltering. The demon stretched out an elongated, almost elegant white hand towards her trembling jaw.

"So young," the demon cooed. Its voice was raspy, as though it hadn't been used for a very long time. "So fragile." It stroked her chin, hollow eyes trailing up and down her small frame hungrily.

Abruptly the hand left her face. "Well, time to go," he quipped.

To Hisagi's growing unease, something wafted through the air, unsettling and putrid in its dark essence. It surrounded the streets, drifted upwards and seemed to caress Hisagi's bare arms. He suppressed a shudder. A large ball of red light appeared on the street directly behind the demon, almost violent in its intensity. In front of the light an oversized door appeared with skeletal hands that reached across the worn hinges.

Hisagi Shuuhei had decided that he had just about enough of this nonsense. At first encounter he had been curious, perhaps even morbidly interested in what the demon would do, but now he was plainly annoyed. He would be damned if he had been dragged to the mortal world for a simple soul funeral only to be foiled in his duty by a demon overstepping its bounds. Hisagi straightened from his vantage point, then flickered out of sight, reappearing between the girl and the demon.

The girl gasped at his sudden appearance. The demon frowned. Hisagi kept his left hand on the hilt of his zanpakuto.

"Soul Reaper," the demon hissed.

Hisagi nodded his head slightly, acknowledging himself to the demon. "Acting Captain Hisagi Shuuhei of the 9th Division."

The demon cocked his head, taking in Hisagi Shuuhei's lean, muscular form with appraising eyes. "I am Sol. Pleased to meet you," Sol said sardonically. "Now what do you want?"

"I am here to see that this girl gets to the Soul Society," Hisagi answered evenly.

"Stay out of this, shinigami," Sol growled.

Hisagi narrowed his eyes at the demon and took a step towards it. "I have my orders."

Sol lifted its chin at Hisagi. "And I have mine."

Confusion knitted Hisagi's eyebrows together. "There must be some mistake."

The demon laughed, which sounded more like a bark. "Then go back to the Soul Society and check your records. The mistake is obviously yours."

Hisagi's jaw twitched. "What are her crimes?"

Sol lifted a skinny black eyebrow, eyes now twinkling with glee at the confounded soul reaper before him. "Too many to list," he answered with a shrug.

"I haven't done anything!" The girl screamed. Hisagi turned to her. The girl now seemed to fully understand the predicament she was in. Desperation etched itself in severe lines across her face, fuelled with the sudden anger of the wrongfully accused. "I swear I haven't done anything!" She screamed again. She turned her full attention to Hisagi, sensing that he was her only chance. "You have to believe me," she pleaded.

Hisagi nodded at her. He turned back to the demon. "This is an error. Please allow me to complete a soul funeral and then we can discuss this problem in more detail."

The demon's face scowled darkly at Hisagi. "I don't take orders from a soul reaper," Sol spat. "You have no authority over me. We are equal."

Hisagi turned his shoulders slightly away from Sol. "I meant no disrespect," he said earnestly. "But I believe her to be innocent and I cannot allow an innocent soul to be taken where she can never return." Hisagi maintained his composure while speaking directly into the deep pools of onyx before him. "It would upset the balance," he reasonably added.

Sol's forked tongue slid out of his mouth to moisten his thin lips while he seemed to consider Hisagi's words. Then he grinned. "I have to be honest with you," he said as his hand strayed to something concealed in his jacket. Hisagi's hand gripped the hilt of his sword in response. "I don't give a shit about _balance_."

He withdrew a dagger and brought it to the side of his body. He pressed something on the hilt of the dagger and the blade extended, mechanically, clinking joints into place until it reached its full length nearly as long as Hisagi's zanpakuto.

Hisagi unsheathed his zanpakuto and held it in front of his body with both hands defensively. "Go!" He shouted to the girl behind him. She was paralysed, still crying wordlessly as she watched the two beings in front of her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Go!" Hisagi shouted again. She jolted at his words, finally listening. "Run from this place and do not stop!" The girl nodded once at him, wanting to thank him but failing to find the words. Then she set her face in grim determination and did just as he commanded, running from the street and through the small winding sidewalks between houses.

When Hisagi felt her spirit safely enough away, he refocused on the demon standing nonchalantly in front him. Sol shrugged. "Ah, who cares about her anyway? Someone else will just find her." He smiled wickedly at Hisagi. "Lets dance."

Sol's swings were powerful and difficult to parry. Much to Hisagi's chagrin, he found himself being driven back, arms trembling from the vibrations of the swords clanging against each other. He needed to find an opening and he needed to do it fast. The demon grinned the entire time. "Tiring yet?" it whispered.

Hisagi grimaced. "Don't get too complacent," he growled back. He pushed back, throwing Sol's sword off his own, regaining a solid footing and equal distance between himself and the demon. The demon smirked, then leapt with his sword held high, slicing downwards to take off Hisagi's head. Hisagi parried, wincing as the shock from the swords hitting each other reverberated through his arm. He swung back, aiming for Sol's midsection. The demon flipped backwards, landing upright. He held his sword aloft.

"You're good," he appraised with a purr. "But I'm better." He launched another offensive, speeding towards Hisagi so quickly he became a blur. Hisagi's eyes tracked him, up until the demon shimmered and disappeared altogether. Hisagi's breath hitched. The hairs on his neck stood up as something whizzed behind him. Pivoting sharply, we was able to deflect the swing headed for the back of his neck, but only slightly. As it was, he felt the sharp sting of Sol's sword as it cut a clean slice across his left shoulder blade. Hisagi hissed in pain. The demon danced around him, clearly pleased with himself for getting past the soul reaper's defence.

"Shall we make it death by a thousand cuts? If so, consider that the first."

Hisagi growled underneath his breath. Sol's antics were becoming tiresome. In anger, he swung his zanpakuto widely and carelessly. Sol leapt backwards, howling with laughter. He stopped laughing when Hisagi disappeared and reappeared at his side. The long sword of the soul reaper dug deep into his abdomen, emitting a surprised gasp from the demon. Sol shimmered from sight. Hisagi spied him a few yards down the street, clutching his left side and breathing hard. He looked furious. Hisagi studied the bloodied end of his zanpakuto apathetically.

"That was a cheap trick," Sol panted.

Hisagi shrugged. "You inspired me."

The demon frowned deeper. "Fine. Have it your way." He clutched his sword with his right hand, his left still covering the seeping wound. Then he lifted the left hand up, painted and dripping in his own blood. Hisagi squinted at the scene before him. The demon's actions were puzzling at best. To his dismay, the blood seemed to ignite in Sol's hand.

"Funny thing, demon blood is," Sol said while studying his hand and the bloody spectacle taking place in it. "It burns with the fires of hell. I s'pose it makes sense; us demons being born from hellfire and all. Only makes sense that fire runs in our blood." He turned to Hisagi with a dangerous gleam in his black eyes. "Wanna taste?"

He flung the ball of fire at Hisagi. Hisagi dodged, thinking that the ball of fire would sail over him. Instead, it landed in the street only a few feet from where he now stood. Then the ball of fire went off like a grenade, knocking Hisagi off his feet and thrusting him through the air. Momentarily disoriented, Hisagi completely forgot about Sol until he was soaring a few inches from his face. Hisagi brought his sword up with no time to spare; Sol was already swinging away at Hisagi's head. Hisagi managed to block all of Sol's swings but then remembered the ground that was fast approaching beneath him. Sol laughed as he drove Hisagi towards the earth with quick, purposely ineffective swings that continued to distract the soul reaper. At the last moment, Sol disappeared and Hisagi landed on the asphalt with a boom.

Slowly picking himself up to his feet, coughing up the dust stirred from his own landing, Hisagi wiped a small line of blood from his mouth with one hand. He saw Sol standing opposite him. The damn thing almost looked bored.

Hisagi shook his head with a wry smile. _Very well_, he said to himself. _I had hoped not to have to use this._ "Reap, Kazeshini," Hisagi said quietly. Bright light emanated from his zanpakuto, enveloping Hisagi in a cocoon of white. Sol drew his slim hand over his eyebrow, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. The light faded. Sol suppressed a gasp.

Where there had been one sword, now two staffs were held in both shinigami's hands. Dual sickle-like blades crowned the ends of the staffs and both weapons were tethered together by an impossibly long black chain. Hisagi held the two weapons casually.

Sol's face had momentarily crumpled with the shock of seeing the zanpakuto deviate into the thing it now resembled, but he recovered quickly and composed himself into the familiar smirk. "Two, one, what does it matter?" He shrugged. "You're gonna die nonetheless."

"Quit talking," Hisagi ordered. He threw one blade at Sol's head. Sol ducked, straightened and frowned. Hisagi tugged on the chain trailing the blade he had just thrown. "You are a nuisance when you open your mouth." The blade jerked in mid-air, then came spinning towards Sol's back. The demon heard the abrupt shift in the air current and managed to throw himself to the side just as the blade would have impaled him. Even so, the curved edge of the blade bit deeply into his forearm. Sol hissed.

The crinkle of metal was the only indication that the chain was moving again. Sol looked up, just in time to see a lasso of metal links circling about his neck. He drew up his sword, catching the loop of chain in the middle with his blade, hoping to deflect it. What he forgot was the blade attached to the chain. The twin to the first sword screamed through the air and while the demon concentrated on avoiding the chains trying to strangle him, he was only aware of the second sword when it became lodged deeply in his spine.

His eyes opened wide, registering the pain and the shock of being hit all at once. His mouth hung open and as he fell he sputtered up flecks of blood. He lay on the street face-down, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping in its final death throes. Hisagi walked towards him slowly, standing a few inches from the demon's face. Sol's eyes struggled to see upwards into the shinigami's face. Hisagi studied the fallen demon dispassionately. He tugged on Kazeshini to release it from the demon's spinal cord.

A hot lance sliced through Hisagi's back. He gasped. Looking down, he was amazed to see a sword sticking through his abdomen.

"Haven't you heard?" A familiar voice asked. Hisagi's pulse quickened as realization hit him. The sword was withdrawn slowly, sickening with a gush of blood trailing it, spilling down the front of his body and pooling on the ground before him. He now saw that Sol was no longer there. He now supposed that Sol was never there to begin with. He cast an eye over his shoulder, finding Sol standing behind him, unharmed. Sol shrugged a shoulder at him.

"Demons lie."

Blackness formed at the edges of Hisagi's vision. He felt sick, dizzy, shaky. He couldn't form any words, couldn't reach the com at his neck, couldn't even lift up his arms to catch the ground before it caught him. It didn't matter. He was already unconscious by the time his cheek hit the pavement.


	3. Skeleton Key

Rangiku Matsumoto was asleep on the couch in her captain's office. She had promised her captain earlier that day that she would sort through the mounting pile of reports on his desk. When she entered the office and actually saw the paperwork, she bit her bottom lip as the realization of the monumental task she had undertaken began to hit home. She took a moment to sigh dramatically. Carting a huge stack of papers over to the couch, she dumped them onto the coffee table in front of her and decided to sort through them there. But after a few minutes had passed, her eyelids began to grow heavy. Her head bobbed up and down as if a weight were tugging on her neck. Finally giving up the fight altogether, she curled onto the couch and rested her head on a folded arm, promising herself that it would only be for a few minutes; just to get rid of the tiredness and all. She reasoned to herself that after she awoke refreshed, she would be twice as productive as before.

That was two hours ago.

Toshiro Hitsugaya swung the door to his office open and was greeted with the sight of his lieutenant sleeping peacefully on the orange couch in front of his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and growled under his breath. He contemplated kicking her awake, but for some reason stopped himself. Instead, he sighed exasperatedly to no one in particular, then picked up the untouched stack of reports from the coffee table and brought them back over to his desk. He worked diligently and without any thoughts of retribution towards his lieutenant until she started snoring. A vein nearly burst from his forehead in ire. He was about to scream her name as he usually did whenever she annoyed him (7 times that day alone), but was interrupted by the shrill ring of the rotary phone on his desk.

He answered sternly, with the false tenor in his voice that he purposely played up in the hopes that his comrades would forget he was a mere child. They never did though.

"Yes?"

"Captain Toshiro!" Came the hurried reply. "You and your lieutenant are summoned to a debriefing! Please collect your lieutenant and ready yourself for deployment immediately!"

The phone clicked tersely with Hitsugaya's mouth still open, ready to reply to someone who was no longer there. He lowered the receiver and shook his head. '_Collect your lieutenant_.' Hitsugaya inhaled deeply, threw his head back and bellowed: "MATSUMOTO!"

She sat up immediately, looking disoriented and bewildered, wiping drool from her chin as she looked about the room for the source of her rude awakening. "Captain?" she asked tentatively.

"Behind you, you idiot!" he growled.

Grasping the back of the couch, Matsumoto twisted around to see her captain glaring severely at her, arms crossed in front of him and one eyebrow perched high on his forehead. "Captain!" she said brightly, eyes twinkling and mouth wide in a shameless smile. "I didn't hear you come in!"

"Enough of that," Hitsugaya silenced her. "We have to go."

Matsumoto nodded, stood up, rearranged her overflowing cleavage and followed her captain dutifully from the 10th Division headquarters.

* * *

Toshiro Hitsugaya and Rangiku Matsumoto stood in the middle of a large room with no light other than the greenish glow that emanated from a multitude of computer screens circling the perimeter of the room. Toshiro stood behind one of the orderlies who tapped furiously away at a keyboard and pointed to various symbols on the computer screen that Toshiro supposed he was meant to understand. Instead, he frowned and nodded when appropriate, impatiently wondering when the man would get to his point. Rangiku stood behind Toshiro and tried to look somewhat interested.

"You see? You see that? That's what I'm talking about!" The orderly tapped the screen repeatedly.

Hitsugaya leaned in closer and squinted. "I see a small blob and a bigger blob."

The man blinked a few times, almost horrified that Hitsugaya had referred to his data as blobs. He swung back around in his seat and hacked away at his keyboard.

"The smaller one is Hisagi Shuuhei," he muttered irritably. "The bigger one is what Lieutenant Hisagi was calling us about. Don't you see?"

Hitsugaya's eyebrows knitted together tightly as he tried to process the information logically, but ultimately shrugged.

"It's a demon!" The orderly exclaimed. "Look at its spiritual pressure! It's almost off the charts! Nearly twice as intense as Hisagi Shuuhei's!"

Toshiro straightened quickly, absorbing the implications of such a statement with rapid unease. Matsumoto's mouth fell open in unadulterated shock. "Captain, that means-"

Hitsugaya stormed out of the room, abruptly leaving the slack-jawed orderly. "Get us over there - now!" Toshiro yelled over his shoulder. Matsumoto followed on his heels.

* * *

The black butterfly entered first, lithely bobbing its way into the material world. The two sets of doors opened next; dual screens sliding apart to reveal the ornately carved round door behind that separated at the middle. Light from the gleaming white city of the Seretei streamed through, outlining the two figures that passed through the doors; the small frame of the child Captain with white hair, Toshiro Hitsugaya, and his voluptuous golden-haired lieutenant, Rangiku Matsumoto. The door shut behind them, and for a few moments the two stayed immobile, floating effortlessly above the small town below them. Rangiku held a black cellphone-looking device in her palm. She studied the graph and the small circle in orange bleeping at her from the small screen.

"He's not far from here," she said to Toshiro.

Hitsugaya nodded. "Lets go."

They hadn't gone very far when the blip on the screen disappeared altogether. Matsumoto gasped and stopped moving, eyes growing wide as she clenched the transmitter in disbelief. "His signal is gone."

Hitsugaya took in the worried face of his lieutenant. It was no secret that many of the male shinigami harboured crushes for his subordinate. But he had often wondered if the aloof front she put up in the face of all the attention shown to her was just that; a facade. He never asked whether she had any interest in anyone, or at least, anyone since _Gin_. And he would never think of drudging up those particular feelings in Matsumoto. Although she never spoke of it, he could see the cloudy look in her eyes whenever _that_ name was mentioned; the way her mouth turned sadly downwards; the way she protectively crossed her arms over her chest. He may be young, but he's not blind.

But now, from the slight tremble in her hand holding the transmitter to the almost wild-eyed panic written across her face, it became crystal clear that there is something there, something that she failed to mention or he failed to take notice of before. '_So...Hisagi Shuuhei, eh?'_

"Come, Matsumoto," Hitsugaya said quietly. "We can track him without that stupid thing."

Something in his voice jolted her out of her reverie and she looked at him, taking a few moments to register what he had just said. Then her face hardened with determination and she nodded curtly, focus returned.

The two shinigami were a blur against the darkened skyline, black uniforms flapping in the wind as they raced across the roofs. Matsumoto's heart pounded in her chest; apprehension for Hisagi's welfare creased her brow; desire to kick the living tar out of anything that hurt Hisagi made her grip the hilt of the zanpakuto strapped behind her.

Hitsugaya was intent on finding the demon but the closer he got, the more his discomfort grew. Hisagi was one of the most capable lieutenants he had ever met. If something were powerful and cunning enough to defeat Hisagi...the implications of such a thought made his gut clench.

Matsumoto's sharp intake of air brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He looked down. A black mound was sprawled across the street, unmoving. The street itself was dotted with odd-looking pockmarks, like jagged-edged potholes.

"Hisagi," Matsumoto breathed.

She would have blindly raced down there if it weren't for Hitsugaya's surprisingly strong grip on her wrist. She turned sharply to him with a questioning and somewhat hurt expression. His aquamarine eyes held her amber ones evenly for a heartbeat, then he focused on the street and houses below. "Don't be a fool. That thing is still out there," he warned.

Matsumoto lowered her eyes. Her captain was right. Her wrist went slack in Hitsugaya's hand. He let it go, sensing Matsumoto's wordless deference. He continued to scan the area, sharpening all of his senses to tune into that one alien presence that should not be there. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, flexed his fingers.

"Can you detect it, captain?" Matsumoto asked softly from his side.

Hitsugaya's eyes snapped open. "Yes." The demon was not far, but did not seem intent on returning to this place. He turned to Matsumoto while clenching the long sword tied to his back, releasing it from its scabbard. "Retrieve Lieutenant Hisagi Shuuhei. I'll handle the demon."

Matsumoto was about to protest her captain going off to catch a demon alone, but thought better of it. Her captain was resolute in his stubbornness and Hisagi needed her help. She nodded decisively at her captain. She darted down to the street while Hitsugaya remained in the air, grasping his zanpakuto with one hand. A quick flash-step later, he disappeared entirely from sight.

* * *

The blood was everywhere. His chest barely moved. His normally olive-coloured skin was waxen, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, one cheek pressed against the black asphalt. Her alarm grew in spades as her hand hovered over the slit in the back of the uniform. She pressed her palm against it, then held the shaking hand up to her face, gazing at the fresh blood painted there. With her clean hand, she softly touched his cheek, the one with the "69" tattooed on it, and cringed when she felt how cool it was. She called his name quietly, trying to rouse him, but without any effect.

She looked to the direction where her captain had gone and chewed here bottom lip indecisively. '_Hisagi needs me more.'_ She grasped one limp arm and flung it around her neck. Then she hoisted the white sash around his waist and lifted him to his feet. One hand firmly tucked into his belt, the other wrapped around his wrist, she deftly carried him up and into the cool night sky, away from the scene of his own carnage.

* * *

Hitsugaya was close. He could practically smell the demon now; a faint scent of charcoal and rot. He drifted down to ground level and crept cautiously alongside a pale brick house. He paused at the corner, peering out from his hiding spot, eyes widening at the sight of the tall, slim figure clothed in black leather. The demon Sol stood casually, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he seemed to stare at nothing in particular. Hitsugaya carefully unhitched his zanpakuto with one hand.

"Are you there, soul reaper?"

Toshiro froze at the sound of the disturbingly calm voice. Sol still had his back to him.

"Do you wish to watch, soul reaper?" Sol turned and smiled at Hitsugaya with his black, hollow eyes.

Abandoning his cover, Hitsugaya pushed himself away from the brick building and stood in the middle of the street, one hand on the scabbard and the other clenching the hilt in readiness. "You attacked my comrade."

Sol cocked his head at the diminutive shinigami. "It was provoked."

"You tried to take an innocent soul," Hitsugaya fired back.

Sol's thin black eyebrows raised up. "Aaahhh. _Her_." He stepped aside to allow Hitsugaya a glance at the crumpled figure of the girl cowering in fear behind the demon. She looked up at Hitsugaya with tears streaming down her face. Her hands were knitted in front of her mouth, shaking badly as her thin framed was wracked with hiccupping sobs. Hitsugaya's eyebrows knitted together in alarm; why had he not sensed the spirit of the girl until now?

"Don't worry; she's still around," Sol purred.

A creaking sound, like concrete slabs rubbing up against each other, grated on Toshiro's ears. The large wooden door to the underworld suddenly appeared behind Sol and the girl. The girl turned her head slightly and screamed at the sight of it. Sol snapped his fingers. The door swung open.

A horrible feeling of blackness and despair gripped Hitsugaya, making him cringe. He drew his zanpakuto and readied it in front of him. "Don't make another move," he ordered the demon.

The demon's face lost its humour as he weighed his odds against the shinigami in front of him. "That robe; you must be a captain, are you not?"

Hitsugaya did not respond.

Sol shrugged. "You must be pretty good. Far better than that _acting captain_ or whatever he called himself." Sol stuck his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. "But I don't really need to do anything anyway."

Black tentacles snaked out of the door and wrapped around the girl's legs. She screamed. The tentacles began dragging her towards the door. Desperately she clawed at the asphalt with broken and bleeding fingernails while calling out for her mother.

Hitsugaya leapt, with his zanpakuto held high. More tentacles whipped out of the darkness and snaked around the girl's wrists and torso. The screams became more horrific.

Sol met him mid-air and caught Toshiro's sword with one hand. A thin line of black blood trickled down the blade. Hitsugaya gasped in spite of himself.

"Don't interrupt," Sol admonished.

The girl disappeared into the blackness of the pit beyond the door. One blink later, Sol also disappeared. Hitsugaya dropped to the ground, searching wildly for the demon. The door began to fade. With a frustrated howl, Hitsugaya swung his zanpakuto at the door, only to have it slice through empty air where the door had once been.

* * *

Matsumoto sailed through the air with the unconscious Hisagi Shuuhei draped on her shoulder. Something caught her attention, a familiar sense, and she turned her head to see her captain speeding towards her. Initial relief at seeing his unharmed presence melded into concern when she read the dangerous glower on his face.

"Captain?" She tentatively asked. "What happened?"

His large turquoise eyes were downcast. "Lets get him home," he muttered.


End file.
